The Wolf Hunters: A Story of the Buffalo Plains

by Robert Morris Peck

Found looked carefully all around, as though to see if there were any Indians about, and then instead of following the wagon tracks, as I supposed he would, he started down into the bottom of the ravine, the head of which led toward the wagon; and after going a few rods, stopped and looked inquiringly back at me, as if to ask: "Am I right?"

"Yes, yes," I answered impatiently as I motioned him away, "go to Tom! go to Tom!"

The dog seemed now fully to comprehend my wishes, and lit out up the ravine on a lively run, now and then disappearing from my view for a moment in the sinuosities of the gulch.

I turned to go down into the cabin to get the field-glass, the better to watch the progress of the dog, and in doing so I instinctively cast my glance in the direction of the point of timber where Satank and Joe had entered a few moments before, and there saw a party of mounted Indians hurrying out of the woods and starting across the prairie after the team.

The Kiowas were about as near the wagon as Found, and it seemed that it would be a close race between the dog and Indians as to which would reach the team first. With the field-glass I watched the advance of Indians and dog with excited anxiety. The pursuers and my messenger had entered broken ground between the creek valley and the upland, and I could catch only occasional glimpses of them. To get a better view I climbed up on the derrick, where we usually hung our fresh meat, which gave me a few feet more of elevation. I tried to count the Indians as they started in pursuit of the wagon and made out that they numbered about forty.

I had watched first Found and then the Kiowas through the glass until the dog had proceeded so far that he had passed out of sight on the upland, still running; and the Indians could only be seen at intervals; but I could not tell which was nearer the wagon. The Indians were approaching it from the right and rear, while Found would be coming from nearly behind. Tom and Jack, I knew, would be sitting on the seat in the wagon, under cover of the sheet, unsuspicious of danger; the rattling of the wagon would drown any noise of the galloping Indians; and their first intimation of the presence of the Kiowas—unless Found reached them in time—would be a volley of bullets and arrows as the redskins surrounded them.

I focused my glass steadily on the white wagon cover, knowing that the halting or turning of the team would indicate that my messenger or the pursuers had reached them. If Found got there first the team would stop; Tom and Jack would discover the Indians and then quickly jump out, unhook the mules and tie them to the wheels of the wagon; and then I would hear the reports of their rifles first. If the Indians got there first and surprised my comrades I would probably hear the reports of the Kiowas' rifles before the wagon stopped, and the frightened mules would then start on a run.

Riveting my gaze on the wagon, I was presently gratified to notice it halt, and a moment later the two familiar reports of Sharp's carbines assured me that they, Tom and Jack, had got my warning and had fired the first shots.

"Good!" I shouted when I heard their rifles. "Ten to one an Indian saddle or two was emptied by those shots!"

Then a straggling rattle of firearms, with now and then the report of a Sharp's, indicated that the fight was on. The bobbing up and down of the heads of galloping Indians passing between me and the wagon showed that the redskins were circling around the team; and as they passed to right and left of the wagon they seemed to be keeping a respectful distance.